Page 38 of Shift of Destiny
He smiled. “No, everything’s fine. He says he brought you something from Laramie.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Better not be another kitten. One Pandora is quite enough.”
* * *
Mr. Maxen let them in through the front door, then locked it behind them. His real visage was an ethereally handsome elf, an iron-and-silver-colored version of the blond elves from the movies, and the differently handsome golden elves of the town council. She could see how his illusion charm had made his features plainer and skin tone look human. The Edwardian-style jacket was totally him.
The mirrors winked at her as they threaded their way through the aisles toward the back, and she smiled. She loved the feel of the magical objects, and the net of power woven into the building itself. Chance smiled at her when she slowed to caress one of the little mirrors.
Mr. Maxen paused at the wide, doorway to the workshop. “Will you be comfortable, Ms. Graham?”
She smiled widely. “I’m seeing everything, sir, including the magic built into the hieroglyphics on the door. Feels like security.”
Since mating with Chance, she’d gained a measure of his super-sensitivity to the various flavors of magic. He’d said his own free magic felt more accessible, too.
The corners of his mouth lifted. “Very good, Ms. Graham.”
He led them to the back entrance, and pointed to a small box on the cart. “This is atonement for my bad behavior during the first two days of our acquaintance.”
“Your… I don’t follow.” She sent a puzzled glance to Chance, but he shrugged.
Mr. Maxen clasped his hands together in front of him. “I experimented with your magic without your consent. At first, I didn’t believe you didn’t know about it, that you were hiding it on purpose for some nefarious purpose. Imposters have asked for sanctuary before. Once I realized you truly had no idea what you had or how powerful it is, I tested your scope and strengths. It was… unkind.” He looked abashed. “Mr. McKennie told me at lunch that my little experiments made you think you were dying of a brain tumor.”
She waved off his apology. “The flickering was driving me batty, I’ll admit, but it started almost the moment my car died in front of the diner.” She glanced at her redheaded mate. “Actually, from the moment I was lucky enough to meet Chance.” She smiled at him as she slipped her hand into his, then turned back to Mr. Maxen. “He calls it my ‘just-in-time’ magic.”
“A fair assessment, but we’ll get to that in a minute. I should have guessed your first visit to the workroom would be unpleasant, but I hadn’t understood the nature of your dual talents.”
She snorted. “I’m glad one of us understands it. Why did you experiment on me in the first place?”
Mr. Maxen gazed at his feet. “I am a scholar of magic and a tinkerer, Ms. Graham. You presented a unique opportunity to test my theory that disbelief can suppress or obfuscate inherent magic, but that magic always finds a way to work.”
Moira was intrigued, in spite of having been a test subject. “How do you separate coincidence from magic?”
“Usually, intention and repeatability,” said Mr. Maxen. “You have knowing magic, the ability to see the hidden truths, and hide them as well. But the fundamental power of your stronger magic, like Mr. McKennie’s, is influence. Colloquially, luck.” He raised an eyebrow. “Individually, you are each an influencer of unlikely occurrences. Together—congratulations on your mating, by the way—you are a nexus for significant change. Confluence magic is rare and can be very powerful.”
“Huh.” She didn’t know what to make of that. “So, that’s, er, good?”
Chance rumbled a little as he pulled her closer to him and sent a pulse of reassurance along their mate bond.
Mr. Maxen shrugged one shoulder. “Change begets both winners and losers.” He picked up the box and held it. “One more question. What do you know of your biological parents?”
“Nothing of my dad, except his name, and he was Canadian. You’d think a name like ‘Zephyr Atsingani’ would be an easy find on search engines, but knowing my mother, he was probably a child of a sixties commune and thinks technology is evil. My only legacy from him is dual citizenship in Canada. My mom was Cherry Graham. She died of a heroin overdose when I was twelve.” Actually, her mother had checked out of life a lot sooner than that. Moira had learned to cook, clean, and get herself to school by the time she was nine.
Chance stirred. “You told me you used your mother’s last name at the Ren fair. You must have kept using it, once you realized Witzer was after you.”
She nodded. “It was the only way I could think of to keep my foster parents out of the whole mess. They’re good people, and loved me, even when I was a sullen Goth girl with serious trust issues. Bad foster-care stories make the headlines, but there are a lot of success stories like mine.” She shook her head. “But I have to admit, they’re very practical, down-to-earth people, and never knew what to make of me.” She sent a thread of magic to flash a beam of light from a nearby mirror. “Now I know why.”
Chance squeezed her hand. “Show off.” She grinned.
Mr. Maxen handed her the box. “This is your paternal heritage.”
She opened the box’s hinged lid to reveal an antique, leather-bound book tied with a blue ribbon, an old tintype photograph, and underneath, a round, silver-framed mirror. The silver was black with tarnish, but the mirror was clear, though wavy, as if the glass was handmade. The old, white-haired man in the photograph had a thick, white mustache and wore a puffy-sleeved shirt and an ethnic vest covered with mirror embroidery.
“Your paternal grandfather,” said Mr. Maxen. “He was a noted sorcerer in his day. He’d be called Romani now, though they were known as Atsinganoi back when I was in the emperor’s court. Traveling fortune tellers and wizards. The mirror and the journal were his.”
“How did you find this?” She caressed the corner of the book with her thumb. “How did you even know where to look?”
“I’m over two thousand years old. I knew your great-great-great grandfather. His gift with mirrors was very like yours. He was a master of hiding the seen and uncovering the hidden, and of knowing the truth. He fell in love with a banshee, as I recall, because the curse couldn’t hide her beauty from him.” Mr. Maxen smiled sardonically. “He was also an inveterate gossip who had to make hasty exits more than once because he shared his juicy tidbits with the wrong person.”
